Reunion
by LobsterLobster
Summary: After the prison falls, Carl and Rick are happy to be reunited with Michonne. Can they build a family together? This story diverges from the show, following what might happen if Joe and company never show up at the house. Richonne adorableness, family bonding, action and violence, humor, hurt/comfort, basically a little of everything!
1. Chapter 1- It's for You

Summary: After the prison falls, Carl and Rick are reunited with Michonne.

A/N: Sort of an episode tag, because don't you really want to see their whole reunion scene? Featuring Richonne family cuteness, of course! Also bonus points to anyone who catches my Firefly references! (As you know, Rick may have been on the losing side of the war but he's still not convinced it was the wrong side.)

...

Reunion

Rick and Carl sat side by side on the floor leaning against the ratty couch. The house was a mess. That and the broken lock clearly indicated it had already been ransacked at least once or twice already, though it was impossible to know how recently.

"There was some more food," Carl said, "but I ate it."

"Oh," Rick said.

Carl was a little worried that he might be reproached for this admission. He really should have brought it back to share, but he'd hardly been in the state of mind to do that.

"What was it?" Rick asked.

Even after everything that had happened to them, even when Carl was hurt and angry, he never lied to his dad, and for that Rick was incredibly grateful. He'd really meant it when he told Carl that he was proud of him.

"A hundred twenty ounces of chocolate pudding," Carl said with a slight smile.

Rick considered that for a moment then nodded approvingly, "Good."

"I found some cereal and something that looks like rice puffs," Carl held up the plastic bag in his hand.

Together they munched on the stale cereal flakes, passing a water bottle between them. Softened with a sip of water, the crumbly flakes were just edible.

A loud knock at the door nearly made Rick jump out of his skin. Startled, they both jumped up, guns in hands.

Rick couldn't remember the last time he'd heard the sound of someone knocking on a door. It probably hadn't happened since before the world had changed. He moved painfully to the door and peeked through the peephole.

He could just make out a familiar face smiling back at him through the fuzzy peephole. Relief fell on him like a surprise downpour. He fell back on the couch laughing in disbelief.

"What?" Carl asked, now becoming seriously concerned that his dad had lost his mind for good this time.

"It's for you," Rick answered, nodding towards the door.

Carl frowned in puzzlement. Why couldn't adults ever give a straight answer? He stepped over and pushed aside a ragged curtain from the window beside the door.

"Ohh! Michonne!" he yelled out in joy, banging on the window.

"Dad! She's alive!" he yelled, throwing his arms around his dad's neck.

"Well go let her in," Rick said, smiling.

Carl banged on the window again, calling, "Hold on! I'll come around the side to get you, okay?"

He ran through the house to the kitchen and threw open the door, racing along the wrap-around porch to the front of the house. He barely slowed down before wrapping his arms tightly around Michonne.

"I thought you were dead…" he cried in relief.

Michonne squeezed her eyes shut and hugged him back, resting her chin on top of his head, momentarily overwhelmed. It'd been so long since anyone had hugged her. Michonne felt something click into place in her heart.

Finally Carl pulled back and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, asking, "How did you get out? I saw you down there by the…by the tank. How did you find us?"

He didn't really want to think about what happened back at the prison, didn't want to look back, but couldn't help asking everything all at once.

"After I got loose and helped you dad up, there were walkers all over," Michonne retold a much abbreviated version of the events in question, "When I turned around again he was gone and I couldn't see anybody."

"Eventually I saw your footprints on the dirt trail and here you are," she concluded with a smile.

"Are you okay, Carl?" she asked in a softer voice, her smile giving way to concern.

He nodded, hoping she wouldn't ask any further.

"I'm okay, but my dad's pretty beat up," his voice came out quieter than he wanted. He glanced up and down the street, ostensibly to check for walkers, before the moment became too heavy.

"Come on, let's go inside," Carl said, leading the way back around the house.

Back inside, Rick stood awkwardly attempting to keep most of his weight off his injured leg.

"Boy, am I glad to see you," he told Michonne warmly, resting his hand on her shoulder.

She nodded, "You too, Rick."

Moving on impulse, Michonne stepped closer and hugged Rick, draping her arms around his neck.

"Oh," Rick said, eyes widening in surprise at his second unexpected hug of the day.

Thinking she'd made a mistake, Michonne started to backtrack but then Rick's reflexes kicked in and he hugged her back. The closeness felt good.

After a moment, Michonne pulled back and for the first time got a good look at him. His face was red in places and badly swollen.

"Are you in pain?" she asked, knowing the answer but wanting to gauge how bad it was.

"Absolutely," Rick replied, not quite smiling.

"I got punched, you know," he drawled, pointing vaguely to his face, "right here."

"Yes, I know," Michonne said, nodding, "I was there."

"I was shot too," Rick said. Now he was outright bantering with Michonne and Carl was smirking, but he didn't care. "Grazed my leg, right here."

Michonne bent to check his makeshift bandage. She'd have to find something better later.

"Hey, now we match," she teased, "I was shot almost the same place, remember, that very first day I found the prison."

"I remember," Rick said, sitting back down on the couch, wincing involuntarily at the movement.

Carl looked up at Michonne and asked, "Have you eaten?"

She shook her head no. Suddenly she realized how empty her stomach was. She hadn't eaten more than a few handfuls of berries since well before she and Hershal were kidnapped.

"Here, we've got a couple things of cereal," Carl said as he rummaged for the stash, "This sugary one is alright."

"Thank you," Michonne gratefully took a bag and the two sat on the floor to eat.

"Maybe tomorrow we can go look for more," Carl was saying.

"Mhmm," Michonne agreed around a mouthful of some very crunchy Fruit Loops.

Rick slowly laid himself back down on the couch, stretching his legs out carefully. The adrenalin of the sudden reunion was rappidly giving way to exhaustion.

'The first day I saw the prison, you could have left me where I fell out there, surrounded by walkers, but you saved my life,' Michonne thought as she watched Rick fall asleep, 'Then I saved your life on the last day I saw the prison. It was far too little, much too late…'

She looked at Carl and Rick. They were the closest thing to a family that she'd had in a very long time.

'But maybe, if the three of us can stay together, maybe it's enough.'

...

TBC!

A/N: I have a next chapter planned, which will involve some more Richonne feelings, finally some adventure and walker-slaying, and Michonne showing off her First Aid skills!


	2. Chapter 2 - Done Taking Breaks

Reunion

Summary: Michonne and Carl are about to head back home to Rick after gathering supplies when Carl spots something interesting in the backyard.

A/N: Tag to the episode "Claimed". Everything happens the same as it did in the show, except that Joe and company never show up. (It's entirely possible that they were eaten by bears. You never know.) I hope you like it!

….

Chapter 2

Michonne walked into the kitchen to find Rick aimlessly looking around, opening drawers.

"Thank you," Rick told her, "I heard him laughing in there. Almost forgot what that sounds like."

He looked up at Michonne, leaning against the counter by the door.

"I can't be his father and his best friend. He needs you," Rick said.

He'd wanted to say those words for weeks now, every time Michonne left the prison by herself armed with a new plan to search for the Governor, smiling and promising to bring back treats.

Things were better when she was around. When she rode off on each new mission, Carl would be disappointed and lonely for days. Rick noticed but he kept quiet. It wasn't his place to ask her to stay.

_Things are different now. I'm just short of asking her to be part of my family now. What if she doesn't want that? _

"Now, I know that's a lot to throw at you, so if you're ever feeling that you need a break-"

"I'm done taking breaks," Michonne interrupted, holding his eyes for a long moment. There was a sense of finality to her tone.

_I'm done running off. I'm done walking around like a dead person. Like Daryl says, nobody can make it on their own anymore. _

Rick rummaged in a drawer, fiddled with a pair of kitchen scissors.

"So what's the plan? This place, is it home, or" Michonne asked, "just a stop along the way?"

_Plan? I don't have any kind of plan._ "Well, let's just stay here while we figure it out," Rick supplied.

"Alright," Michonne agreed, "We'll need some more supplies. I'll take Carl and get some."

"I'll come too," Rick said.

"You were unconscious yesterday," Michonne said pointedly.

"Well I'm awake today," he protested.

"We need you strong. Just rest," Michonne told him gently, "just one more day."

Rick assented. He watched her turn and walk down the hallway to find Carl. The idea of being left behind didn't sit well with him but he knew she was right.

It was a relief to be able to share the role of protector. More than that, it was nice to have someone to care for him, to tell him to rest.

….

Michonne and Carl made a good team. Together they cleared three houses, only coming across a handful of walkers which were quickly dispatched. Michonne made sure she was through the door first each time, telling Carl that he needed to save his bullets while he could.

She was almost surprised to find herself telling Carl about Andre, but it felt like the right thing to do._ It was the right moment. He needs to know he's not alone._

"Come on, it's almost noon. Your dad will worry if we're not back soon," Michonne said and the two began to make their way through the house.

"Whoa! What's that?" Carl stopped short, pointing out a window into the backyard.

"Looks like a helicopter crash," Michonne said, peering through the dirty window.

"Was it a police helipopter?" Carl asked curiously. Once, in second grade, his dad had let him sit in a police helicopter on take-your-child-to-work day.

"Med-evac, I think," Michonne said, "We should check it out."

The yard was pretty overgrown and there were a few large tree branches in around the wreckage.

"No, look," Carl said, pointing.

"Walkers."

Sure enough, just visible from their window, there were a couple decomposing walkers moving slowly about the yard.

"Let's go upstairs to get a better look," Michonne whispered and they moved quietly into the hall and climbed the stairs to the second floor. They'd already cleared the rooms but had paid little attention to the windows.

"They haven't noticed us," Michonne said, assessing the threat, "I count four, no five."

Sections of the formerly white picket fence had fallen down. One of the walkers wore a flight helmet, and another the shredded remains of an EMT jacket, but the others had probably wandered into the yard and gotten stuck there, shuffling around in endless circles. They did that sometimes.

"There's too many," Carl said, turning away from the window, "Michonne, come on, let's go back."

"Hold up," Michonne said slowly, "…I have a plan."

Carl paused at the top of the stairs, waiting.

"Remember that day we were in your old neighborhood, and we went into that restaurant to get your picture frame?"

"Yeah," Carl said. Now that picture was gone. He'd never see it again.

"We'll do it like that. You stand here at the window and make some noise to distract the walkers, meanwhile-"

"You sneak around behind them and grab the stuff? But won't it take a while to look around? They'll notice you for sure," Carl said, frowning.

"I'll have to cut them down first, and then we can look for any medical supplies," Michonne explained.

"What kind of plan is that?" Carl was growing more incredulous. _Why does she want to go out there by herself? This is hardly the same as the photograph mission. _

"Listen, you stay here, give me a couple minutes go make my way around the side to where the fence is down over there," Michonne pointed, "then you start yelling and get the walkers to come towards the house. Then I'll go in and kill them with my sword."

"It's perfect, Carl. Only a few walkers, a nice open space, and if I catch them unawares…"

"Are you _sure_?" he asked.

Michonne nodded seriously. "Plus you'll be here to act as my lookout. If it starts to go bad, I'll yell. How many bullets do you have left?"

"Two in my dad's gun, one in mine," he replied, looking up at her with a worried expression.

"Trust me. I can do this," she said, then added, "I've done it before."

Carl sighed. "Okay. If you're sure, then we'll do it."

_Dad said to follow her lead. I can shoot three walkers, easy. Then she'll only have to fight two by herself… This better be worth it._

Michonne opened the window slowly so it wouldn't squeak. The screen was torn.

"Give me about three minutes to get over there, then yell for the walkers, okay?" Michonne gave one last instruction as Carl checked his dad's gun, "Remember, don't shoot unless you absolutely have to. Only if I yell for you."

Michonne gave him a reassuring smile.

"Got it," Carl said and returned her smile. He was still a bit worried, but he was also excited. After all, most of his dad's plans were at least twice as crazy as this.

With that, the plan was set in motion.

….

TBC!

A/N: I know it starts a little slow, but next chapter is much more exciting! Trust me!

Preview: Cursing out the walkers seems to be becoming a habit for Carl.


	3. Chapter 3 - Stand and Fight

Reunion

Summary: Michonne is determined to find medical supplies to help Rick and she certainly won't let a handful of walkers stand in her way. But this is The Walking Dead world and does anything ever go exactly according to plan?

A/N: This chapter was a lot of fun to write. Teamwork, danger, adventure! Enjoy!

Chapter 3

Michonne walked through the overgrown grass. She paused at the break in the fence, waiting for Carl's signal. _What if this is a mistake?_ _No. If that med-evac had any antibiotics or clean bandages, they're probably still there. I need them for Rick._

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud banging sound.

"Hey you! Hey asshole! Hey shitface! Over here! Yeah you!" Carl hollered at the top of his voice, banging the butt of his gun against the windowpane above his head.

Michonne poked her head around the fencepost. The walkers in the yard were turning towards the sound of Carl's voice, ambling towards the house, their pained growls and hisses filling the air.

Drawing her sword, Michonne counted to three then moved carefully over the broken pickets and into the center of the yard.

Katana held at the ready in front of her, just like she'd been taught, Michonne took a steadying breath and centered her energy.

The last walker straggling behind the others, the one wearing a tattered flight suit and cracked and bloody helmet, swung around and came towards Michonne. The walker dragged a broken and twisted leg behind it in a slow limp, Carl's shouted obscenities abandoned for something more interesting.

One swing of the sword and the walker fell to the ground, newly detached head rolling away to the side. After that the other walkers took notice and began to switch direction.

Michonne adjusted her stance, moved a little to the right, chose the best angle of attack, and brought her sword through a long sweep, neatly decapitating the next two corpses in one motion.

By then the fourth walker was coming at her from the side, decaying arms reaching out beseechingly. She brought her blade sharply upward, cutting through its chest.

One more to go.

"Michonne!" Carl yelled, his voice filled with a shrill urgency, "Behind you!"

She spun around to see several more walkers coming for her. _Where did they come from?_ She turned back just in time to catch the EMT jacket walker, knocking it over with a kick to the chest.

Michonne ran across the yard, leaping over the fallen corpses, desperate to put some distance between herself and the new walkers behind her. She ducked under a low tree branch and scrambled through another break in the fence, scraping her shoulder on the rough wood.

….

"No!" Carl bit back that familiar terror and aimed his dad's revolver.

BAM! BAM!

One walker went down. Another was hit in the shoulder, stumbled, and continued on in pursuit of Michonne. She'd disappeared somewhere around the side of the house.

Carl holstered the empty revolver and pulled his gun from his waistband, his actions more muscle memory than anything else. He aimed again, leaning out the window, trying to get an angle on the last walker lurching across the yard.

One bullet left. _Aim carefully. Michonne's in trouble!_ He hesitated a second too long and the walker's head passed out of his line of sight. _Too late! Go!_

Carl spun on his heels and raced through the house, leaping down the stairs. He landed heavily, recovered, threw himself out the front door.

_Please be okay! Please be okay!_ He willed himself not to panic. _Run faster! You can still help!_

Carl ran around the side of the house, heart pounding in his chest. He stopped short, raised his gun, eyes squinting against the sun for a target.

Then he saw it.

His closest friend in this world, standing there, surrounded by hungry walkers.

Michonne took a step backwards and spun, her dreadlocks seeming to float in the air, sunlight glinting off her blade like it was made of fire as she seamlessly decapitated one walker, then another, and another. Then, slashing again, she cut down the last walker, the one Carl had almost shot from the window.

In seconds it was over and the air was still again.

Carl lowered his gun.

Michonne looked around, waiting to see if any more walkers were coming.

"Carl!" she said, spotting him, "Are you okay?"

"Am _I_ okay?" he repeated, incredulous, "Michonne, are _you_ okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," she said, out of breath, holding out a hand, "Wait there."

Carl didn't listen. He made his way over to her, carefully stepping over and around the corpses scattered around.

He paused by one that was still moving, growling, partially pinned underneath a large dead walker. He clinched his fists and brought his boot down with all the force he could muster, smashing in its skull.

Michonne finished checking the rest of the downed walkers and looked at her bloodied sword. With a sharp flick of the wrist, dark droplets were flung away from the blade. She turned towards Carl.

"Are you really okay?" he asked, the after effects of that much adrenaline making him a little shaky.

Michonne nodded. She tried to give a reassuring smile, knowing that she'd almost gotten herself into quite a mess this time.

Carl wanted to shout, 'How could you do something so reckless, all by yourself? Don't you know how scared I was?' but at the same time he was filled with a sort of stunned admiration. He knew she was good with the sword, but this was something else entirely. _How did she do that?_

Instead he settled for grabbing her hand and saying simply, "Let's get out of here."

"Wait," she squeezed his hand, "I didn't do all that for nothing. We have to check that helicopter."

"Seriously?" Carl protested, but let himself be pulled along back towards the wreck, "We should just get back to my dad before anything else happens, okay?"

Standing by a broken rotor blade, Carl could see that under the dirt and fallen tree branches, the body of the helicopter had originally been painted in white and red like an ambulance. The tail section had broken off and the cockpit was badly crushed.

Michonne cautiously looked around, pushing aside dangling wires and cobwebs, until she found what she was looking for.

"Hurry up! Let's go!"

"Almost," Michonne grabbed the strap and yanked, "got it…"

She gave another pull and the canvas bag came free.

"This should do it," she set the bag down on the grass and unzipped it to find all the emergency medical supplies intact. She zipped the bag closed and slung it over her shoulder.

Carl led the way back to the front of the house where they'd left the rest of their gathered supplies.

"So, I have an idea," Carl said as they skirted the massacred walkers, squinting up at Michonne, "maybe we don't tell my dad about all the…"

He trailed off, but Michonne understood.

"That might be best," she frowned, holding out her arms and looking herself over. There was blood splattered over her white shirt. _That was really stupid. I should stop with the plan-making for now. I can't take those crazy chances by myself like I used to, not with Rick and Carl counting on me._

"Good thing you washed your other shirt," Carl attempted levity as they walked down the street back to their house.

"Yeah, but this one was my favorite."

…..

TBC!

A/N: So, were you scared? Anyway, I hope you liked it. I have a lot more ideas for this story (maybe they find Daryl and use Rick's police skills to figure out where Beth is and rescue her, I have some theories…) if things go well.

Preview: Will Rick let Michonne give him first aid? (I'll give you a hint, the answer is yes!) Also, what might he reveal while under the influence of painkillers? Oh the suspense!


	4. Chapter 4 - Someone to Share the Burden

Reunion

Summary: Rick has some time to reflect on his life, and his family, while he waits for Michonne and Carl to return from gathering supplies. Then we move on to the more pressing questions: Will Michonne be any good at first aid? Will Rick finally confess his true feelings? Will Carl ever get to eat Crazy Cheese?

A/N: This chapter is a bit long. I was going to split it up but I think I'll give you the whole thing. I hope you like it!

…..

Chapter 4

A loud crash shook Rick from his sleep. He blinked his eyes slowly, trying to decide if the noise had come from his fast-receding dream or from something more immediate. _Wake up!_

He rubbed his hands over his face, wincing at the sudden pain from the bruising around his temple, and opened his eyes. He was laying in the upstairs bedroom in the house he and Carl had found, waiting for Carl and Michonne to return.

Moving stiffly, Rick sat up and reached for the broken watch band on the bedside table. _Is it noon already? _He held still for a minute, letting the grogginess of sleep fall from his mind.

It was about a quarter 'til. They should be back soon.

Rick picked up the plastic water bottle. He poured some water into his good left hand and splashed it on his face, then drank the rest and made his way down to the front of the house.

….

Rick leaned on the porch railing, keeping a watchful eye out for Michonne and Carl. The street was quiet, empty. The sky was looking more and more overcast, the kind of clouds that made all the overgrown grass and trees look even greener than usual.

Unexpectedly, a sliver from Rick's dream resurfaced in his mind. In the dream he'd been standing right there on the porch, the same way he had a few hours earlier, seeing Michonne and Carl off on their way to search for more supplies.

The memory from the morning and what happened in the dream were so similar that Rick felt a strong sense of deja-vu.

In his dream, the three of them stood on the porch the same way, except instead of his revolver, Rick handed Carl a packed lunch in a brown paper bag.

Instead of a holster strapped to his leg, Carl wore a backpack full of school books. Instead of his battered old sherriff's hat, that had seen them through so many miles, so many trials, the boy wore a new baseball cap.

Carl smiled up at him, "Thanks, Dad."

"Have a good day, buddy," Rick said, patting Carl's shoulder affectionately.

Michonne followed Carl down the steps. Instead of a sword and empty duffle bags to fill with food and medicine, she carried a big poster board for Carl's latest school project.

Before they turned and made their way down the driveway, Carl stopped and waved back at Rick, "See ya later!"

Michonne almost dropped the awkwardly large poster board, but then got a better grip on it. She grinned and gave Rick a cute wink.

Rick laughed and waved back. He leaned forward against the porch, watching them walk to the bus stop together, laughing over something from the latest comic books Michonne had ordered from some website or other.

Rick blinked and brought himself back to the present. He didn't usually let himself entertain thoughts of what might have been or what things might be like, in a different world. It was no use daydreaming about the impossible, but this time he found himself smiling at the image of the three of them building a little family together.

The wind began to pick up and Rick spotted two squirrels chasing each other up and around the tree trunk, chattering away. _If Daryl were here, we'd be eating roasted squirrel right now._

That thought hit him like a cold splash of water. If anyone else was to have made it out of the prison, it would have been the surly redneck, right? _No, Daryl's the type to go down fighting. He was ready to die fighting the night the farm fell. He's gone now._

Rick felt the sadness creeping up, pulling on his arms, pushing his head down.

"No," he whispered, hands gripping the porch railing so tight that his knuckles went white.

He said it again, more firmly, "_No._"

_I'm done looking back. Daryl, Glenn, little Judith…Lori…Shane. They're all gone. I loved them and now they're gone...But I can't go back._

Rick lifted his head and stood up straighter. _I'm done killing myself with guilt. Done taking breaks._

Thunder rumbled long and low somewhere in the distance and the wind picked up, swirling leaves across the yard.

Another glance at his watch told him that it was now 12:08. Worried, Rick looked down the street again. Still no sign of Carl or Michonne.

_Don't worry just yet_, he told himself. They only had the sun to judge the passing time by and that was quickly disappearing behind dark clouds.

These days, storms can be both a blessing and a curse. Fresh water can be hard to come by without rain and, if the storm is loud enough, it will confuse any nearby walkers, sending them wandering off in random directions. Even so, it could be dangerous to be caught without shelter.

Rick abandoned his post by the door and walked cautiously out into the middle of the street.

No sign of walkers. No sign of Carl and Michonne. The minutes trudged by.

_Is that them?_ Rick squinted to see two figures approaching around the bend in the street.

As they drew closer, the taller one raised a hand in greeting, which Rick returned, smiling in relief.

A jagged bolt of lightning cracked open the sky, the following boom making him flinch. That was close. He started walking towards Michonne and Carl as they picked up their pace.

"Here, this is for you," Michonne said by way of greeting, handing the largest canvas bag to Rick.

"Have any trouble?" Rick asked, apprehensively noting the blood splatters across her shirt.

"I got a little more than I bargained for at the last house," she admitted, "but nothing I couldn't handle."

Rick slung the black strap over his shoulder. It was heavier than it looked.

Turning to walk beside Carl, he asked, "You okay?"

Carl nodded, "I'm okay. Used your last bullets though."

His words were almost drowned out by a boom of thunder. All at once the sky opened up and huge raindrops filled the air. The three survivors broke into a run, as best they could while burdened with heavy bags slung over their shoulders.

Carl got to the door first and shoved it wide open, everyone piling inside to get out of the drenching rain. Rick pushed the door closed behind them before the wind could blow any more rain inside. They all dropped their bags on the ground and caught their breath.

"Oh! That was refreshing!" Michonne said, shaking her head vigorously, her long hair spraying water drops all around.

"Hey! Watch out!" Carl exclaimed, putting his hands up in a vain effort to block the water.

"Carl, this is the only way I can dry my hair," she said matter-of-factly, before shaking her head once more.

"No it's not!" Carl laughed, ducking behind Rick, "Michonne! Stop!"

"Stop! Hey!" Rick protested, laughing out loud.

She finally stopped and wiped the water from her face. She grinned, feeling incredibly pleased that she'd made them both laugh. Rick had one hand pressed against his aching ribs.

"You're looking better," Michonne told Rick, looking him over. He'd washed most of the dried blood off his face and found a clean shirt while they were gone.

She found it very endearing when his hair got messed up and a few curls fell into his face. She looked away before she could follow that thought any further.

"Come on, help me push this back up," she told Carl, moving to push the couch to block the door again.

"Find anything good?" Rick asked, nudging a bag with his foot.

"Yeah, we got a couple boxes of energy bars, some spare batteries, flashlights," Michonne said.

"Some crazy cheese," Carl added, smiling up at her.

"That one's first aid stuff," she told Rick, pointing to the large bag that he'd carried in, which he now noticed had EMT stenciled on the side.

"You'd better let me take a look at you," she told him, meeting his eyes, hoping he wouldn't protest.

Rick considered this. _Well, having Michonne give me first aid is certainly not the worst thing that could happen._ He gave her a small nod of assent.

Taking a look in the EMT bag, he added, "I'm surprised no one got to this, after all this time."

"Not really…" Carl said to himself. _You didn't see all the walkers around it._

Carl set about taking inventory of their gathered supplies. During the winter after they left the farm, he and Beth had developed a strategy that involved dumping everything out on the floor, sorting out the food into rations, and then making sure the other bags have a good mix of useful items.

_Don't put all your eggs in one basket, like Beth said._ Carl paused in his work, listening to Michonne taking his dad upstairs with the first aid kit. _I wonder if Beth made it out. She was always with Judith…_ Carl clenched his fists and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. _No. Don't think about that now. You have a job to do._

…

"Michonne! What happened?" Rick suddenly asked in alarm, grabbing her arm.

"What?" she asked, confused, trying to see what he was looking at.

Sure enough, her shirt was torn and there was fresh blood on her shoulder. Her blood.

"Did you-" Rick cut himself off before he finished that question. _No way she got bit. She would say something. Right?_

"Relax! It's nothing," Michonne said, noting the panic in Rick's eyes, "I scraped my arm against a fence back there."

Rick felt his heart start beating again. He dropped his hand. "You're sure you're okay?"

"It's just a scrape. I'm okay, really," she assured him, carefully looking at her shoulder. She gave him a look that said, _Hey,_ _you're still the first aid patient here, don't try to distract me!_

Michonne went into the other room and changed back into her brown tank top that she'd been wearing the day before, wading up the white button-down shirt and tossing it into the corner.

Back in the master bedroom, she had Rick sit on the side of the bed. She put the EMT bag next to him and started unpacking things, setting them out on the bedside table. There were gloves, masks, gauze of all shapes and sizes, sterile wipes, IV bags, and an assortment of medicines, sharp scissors, tape, disinfectant, and bandages.

"Okay," Michonne said, "First step, assess the injuries."

At this point Rick wasn't sure if she was talking to him or to herself, so he didn't say anything.

Michonne leaned in close, her face frowning in concentration. Rick held perfectly still. Her fingers gently brushed across his forehead, under his eye, taking in the cuts and bruises that marked his skin, pushed a stray piece of hair back behind his ear.

"I think the swelling is less today," she said, pulling back.

"How's your side?"

"Pretty sore," he admitted.

"I already bound it up," he said, lifting up his shirt to show the makeshift bandage that he'd torn from a spare sheet. His side was still red and badly bruised from where he'd been tackled by the Governor.

Michonne nodded approvingly, "It'll probably be sore for a couple days but I don't think anything's broken, or you wouldn't be walking around the way you are."

She watched as he tugged his shirt back down over the bandage. He was not looking forward to what was coming next. The throbbing pain in his leg wasn't as bad when he didn't look at it, didn't think about it, certainly didn't touch it.

"And your leg…" Michonne said, right on cue.

Gritting his teeth, Rick managed to carefully untie the bandana that he'd used to stop the bleeding where the bullet had grazed his leg, hoping that would be good enough.

"Gotta take 'em off," she said with a sympathetic grimace.

Rick stood up and awkwardly began to undo his belt. Belatedly realizing how uncomfortable the situation was about to become, Michonne turned her back. She waited a little while before peeking back to see Rick, now down to his T-shirt and boxers, drop his gun belt and his torn jeans at the end of the bed and sit back down.

There was a lot of dried blood around the shallow gash in his thigh. Michonne examined the wound with a worried expression, hesitant to touch it just yet. He probably needed stitches, but that was quite outside of her realm of experience.

"I think all I can do is clean it up and give you a new bandage," she told him.

Rick took a deep breath, "Okay." This was going to hurt, but he knew that with a proper bandage he would heal much more quickly.

"Alright, now it's time for the next step of first aid," Michonne narrated, looking through the medicines lined up on the night stand and picking the one she wanted.

"And what is that?" Rick asked slowly.

"Step two…" Michonne held up a small dark colored bottle, a glint in her eye, "Morphine!"

Rick cracked a smile at that news, "Alright, doc, get to work."

Michonne unscrewed the cap and began to pour the clear liquid into a tiny plastic cup, saying, "I don't have any real idea how much is too much, so we'll start with a little bit and see how that feels, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed. _That's probably best. I don't want to be totally passed out in case there's trouble and we need to run again._

Rick took the proffered cup and downed the bitter medicine in one shot. Michonne put the canvas bag on the ground and instructed Rick to lie down. She cleaned off the dried blood as gently as she could.

Fingers laced behind his head, Rick stared up at the ceiling, focused on keeping his breath even.

"How are you feeling?"

Truthfully, he felt rather dazed. The morphine seemed to be kicking in, softening the pounding in his head and the dull ache through the rest of his body that he'd lived with the last few days. Still, the pressure on his injured leg was creating a sharper pain.

"I think I'll have a little more, doc," he sat up unhurriedly, trying to distract himself by teasing Michonne a little bit.

She poured him a little more medicine this time and let that sink in for a few minutes before moving to wrap his leg tightly in a clean white bandage. Her job for the most part done, Michonne cleaned her hands and then tossed the trash into an empty hamper.

Rick's eyes were growing very heavy. He could hardly feel the pain in his leg, or his side, or any of it for that matter. He felt light but also slow, like he was lying on the softest bed in the world and couldn't imagine wanting to move.

"Mi…Michonne…" his voice came out sluggishly, indistinctly.

"Hmm?" she sat down beside him, balanced on the edge of the bed.

"Thank you, Michonne," Rick said slowly.

"No problem," she replied.

"No, thank you, for being here," he said, his voice quiet but clear.

She opened her mouth to respond, _where else does he think I would be?_ but he reached out and closed his hand over hers and she stayed quiet.

"Thank you for being here," Rick continued, his blue eyes thoughtful, "for being who you are. Ya know, Michonne, I think you always show up just when I need you most. I don't realize it at the time, but I think that's how it is. Every single time."

He was quiet for a moment and she almost thought he'd fallen asleep but his voice came softly, "You saved me."

Michonne tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She laced her fingers through his and held his hand tightly. She looked away, staring out the bedroom window, rain streaming against the glass.

Her voice barely above a whisper, she said, "Rick, you saved me too."

She turned her head back to look at Rick. Now he was definitely asleep.

…

TBC!

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews! Please send more! I have a few more ideas to continue this story, so I want to know what you think. :D

More Richonne cuteness and family bonding to come! Also, probably some more action, can't let them get too comfortable anywhere, right?


	5. Chapter 5 - Waking up Next to You

Reunion

Summary: The seasons are starting to change and it's getting cooler overnight. How will Team Richonne stay warm? Read on to find out!

A/N: This is the most romantic chapter I've written. I hope you like it!

….

Chapter 5

Rick woke slowly, feeling very groggy from the painkillers that he'd taken yesterday afternoon. He could hear a light rain pattering against the windows. He blinked, trying to focus his eyes in the dim room, not sure if it was night or if he'd slept into the next morning.

Rick tried to move but realized that there was something heavy leaning against his side. Confused, he turned his head to see Michonne.

She was curled up beside him, sharing his pillow, arm draped across his chest so her hand rested on his other shoulder.

The moment was so warm and peaceful that, in Rick's foggy mind, he thought it had to be a dream.

He and Michonne were spending a lazy Saturday morning in bed, slowly waking up to the day, the outside world muffled by the steady rain.

Carl's baseball game would be cancelled due to the rain. Later, they would go downstairs and make a breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, hash-browns, toast, and orange juice.

But for now Rick was comfortable right where he was. Michonne's soft breath was warm against his neck. Gently, he ran his fingers along her arm, savoring her closeness.

His hand touched something rough. It was a piece of gauze taped to her shoulder. _From where she scraped her arm on a fence post, that's what she said, after nearly giving me a heart attack, thinking she got bit by a walker. _

Rick frowned at that thought, discordant in the quiet dreamlike moment. He felt something stuck on his face. _Strange…_ Reaching up to feel what it was, Rick realized that he had a small band-aid across the ridge of his nose, another on his temple.

_Ohhh. Michonne was giving me first aid yesterday and I passed out after she bandaged my leg. She must have put these on my face too. _

The memories caught up to each other and fell into place in his mind. _She must have fallen asleep and flung her arm over me without realizing it._

Rick felt a twinge of disappointment at realizing that his dream wasn't real. _No, isn't it better this isn't just a dream?_

"Mmmm," Michonne shifted in her sleep, disturbed by Rick's movements.

_She's waking up! What do I do?!_ Rick panicked for a few seconds and then decided that the best possible course of action in this situation would be to close his eyes and pretend to be asleep.

He felt Michonne's body tense beside him and her arm pulled back. _Too late. She's awake now._ Rick hesitantly opened his eyes and turned to see Michonne's brown eyes wide open with a rare mix of surprise and uncertainty.

Michonne reflexively pulled away to lie on her back only to elicit a muffled "Hey…" from Carl, who had been sleeping curled up with his back pressed against Michonne. Last night the storm had been so violent, with no signs of stopping that all three of them had ended up sleeping in the queen sized bed together.

"Sorry, Carl," Michonne murmured, sitting up instead.

Rick sat up as well, watching Michonne beside him, her hands gripping her knees, head bent forward so she could hide behind her hair.

_This is something new._ Rick couldn't help but smile wryly at her awkward position. _I've seen her look thoughtful, angry, fierce and focused and ready for battle, or sad when we found Andrea at Woodbury, or happy talking to Carl or teasing Daryl because of his fleas, or alert for danger…but this is the first time I've seen her look embarrassed!_

He wanted to reach out and sweep back the dreadlocks from her face so he could see what she was thinking, but he hesitated too long.

"Rick," she tilted her face to meet his eyes.

"I _wasn't_ cuddling you. We were huddling together for warmth."

Rick blinked.

"Oh," was all he could manage to say.

For a long moment Michonne stared at Rick, frozen. His expression was so soft and affectionate that part of her wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss him soundly on the lips but another part of her wanted to run away and pretend that nothing at all had happened, that she didn't feel anything at all.

Michonne took a deep breath, seeming to come back to herself.

"I'll get some breakfast ready," she said, leaning forward and crawling over the end of the bed.

She picked up her sword from where it rested against the door frame and headed down the hall to the stairs without looking back, leaving Rick sitting on the bed still only dressed in his T-shirt and boxers, looking a little bit dumbfounded.

Meanwhile, Carl got up and retrieved his hat from where it had fallen onto the floor during the night.

Carl looked at his dad and shook his head in disappointment, "You are such a dork."

"Carl!" Rick exclaimed, astonished at his son's attitude so early in the morning.

"Dad, if you like Michonne then you should just say it," Carl declared and promptly ran off.

Rick was stunned into silence. _Am I that obvious?_

He stared at the empty doorway and listened to Carl's boots stomping down the stairs.

Carl called, "Michonne, wait for me, I want to help!"

He found her in the kitchen, looking through the meager pile of scavenged foodstuffs on the table.

She held up a box and smiled at him, "Do you like pancakes?"

"No," Carl answered.

"What?" Michonne looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

"I didn't say I wouldn't eat it. You know I'll eat anything," Carl explained, shrugging, "but I've never liked pancakes."

"That, Carl, is blasphemy."

….

TBC

A/N: I think Rick has already had feelings for Michonne for a while (in the show, not just in my story!) but he's gonna be kind of inept at flirting. He sees how good she is with Carl and Carl was the one to vouch for her in the first place, so I think it's going to be a foregone conclusion when they finally get together! :D

Preview: Will Rick ever get to cuddle with Michonne? Will outside forces conspire to disrupt their happy domestic life? And will Carl ever get to eat decent pancakes? Oh the suspense!


	6. Chapter 6 - We're The Same

Reunion

Summary: Rick is forced to deal with something painful. Will Michonne be able to comfort him?

A/N: I don't want to give away what happens, but I think this is an important scene that needs to happen. Warning: this is maybe the saddest chapter I've written for anything. Don't worry, though, we'll be back to adventure soon! I really appreciate all the reviews and support! I hope you like it!

…..

Chapter 6 – We're The Same

_Well, this is turning into an eventful morning_, Rick thought to himself, Carl's words echoing in his mind.

_Dad, if you like Michonne then you should just say it._

Rick sighed. He knew Carl didn't backtalk unless he had something that he just had to get off his chest. Even then his words always had at least a ring of truth to them.

Rick got up slowly, stretching his stiff body. The long rest had done him good but it was time to get a move on. _First things first._ He began shifting through the bedroom closets until he found what he was looking for.

_Maybe he's right. Maybe I should just say it,_ he mused, pulling on a pair of dark colored jeans, careful not to mess up the bandage on his aching leg.

_No. It's more complicated than that and you know it, Rick. You're not living in some daydream world, playing house together…We're on the run again and we need to find a way to survive this world. _

He found a flannel shirt crumpled in the back of the closet and gratefully slid his arms into the soft sleeves. It was starting to get cool at night. Autumn was well on its way.

Rick walked down the steps, leaning on the railing to keep some of the pressure off his hurt leg, hoping to find a coat closet somewhere.

_Wait for now. Wait until the moment is right, then you can tell her. _

He checked the windows and doors as he walked around the house. They were safe for time being.

_Hell, she probably knows already. She's always been able to read my mind, even when I hardly understand my own thoughts. _

After some searching Rick found three jackets that they could use. Carl would have to roll his sleeves up but it'd work. He laid them on the couch near the bags of supplies from yesterday's expedition, all zipped and lined up, ready to go at a moment's notice. Carl knew the routine well; he hadn't forgotten the long winter of running from place to place, after they lost the farm.

All along he could hear various clanging sounds and snippets of laughter coming from the kitchen.

Rick stopped at the threshold to the kitchen, leaning against the empty doorframe, watching. It was so rare to see Carl open up and talk freely; he didn't want to interrupt them just yet.

"If only we had some strawberries," Carl was saying.

"Or some blueberries," Michonne added, passing him a stirring spoon.

They had apparently lit a small fire in the kitchen sink and placed a metal grill from the oven over it, frying pan resting on top. The window was opened just enough for ventilation, but not so much that the wind might blow in too much rain.

"Oh I used to _love_ blueberries!" Carl said, reminiscing.

"Is this really going to work?" he asked, still uncertain about the whole endeavor.

They really had found a box of untouched, dry, bug-free pancake mix.

"It's too bad we don't have any butter, but this will work just fine," Michone said as she shook a can of cooking spray, "Trust me."

"Does this look okay?" Carl showed her the mixing bowl.

Michonne appraised his handiwork, "That should do."

She used a coffee mug to scoop some runny batter onto the sizzling pan.

"Now, the trick is, don't try to flip it too soon. Wait until you see little bubbles around the edges. You wait until just the right moment…"

Carl watched intently, "You seem to know a lot about pancakes."

"I am a pancake master," she said confidently, eliciting a chuckle from Carl.

"I used to make Andre these little pancakes in the shape of Mickey Mouse. He would just smile and smile. It was the cutest thing."

Partway through her story Carl caught sight of Rick standing in the doorway. He froze, the laughter falling from his face.

Michonne trailed off, noticing Carl's stricken expression. She followed his gaze, turning around to see Rick.

Rick's eyes skated away from hers. He looked at his feet, feeling ashamed for intruding on their conversation. He looked back up at Michonne.

She stood still, the spatula in her hand fell to her side, her expression uncertain, waiting for him to say something.

_You have to say something._ Rick steeled himself against the ice closing around his heart. _No. I don't want to know. I don't._

"Who was Andre?" his voice came out softer than he intended, but he got it out.

Michonne looked calm, determined.

"Andre was my son," she said, her voice clear but shaded with sadness.

"He was three."

_No. No…_ Rick thought back to how Michonne was the first time they met. She was so guarded, closed off, so determined to do what she thought was right without asking anyone for help, even if it killed her. How surprised he'd been the first time he'd seen how warm and kind she could be, the special connection she had with Carl; it was a glimpse of what she must have been like before the world had turned.

Michonne was saying something else but he couldn't hear her words.

He'd always known that something terrible must have happened to her, but the same could be said for anyone still alive today, so he'd never thought too long on what it might have been.

_She was a mother._ To find out so suddenly felt like a sharp blow to the face, leaving his ears ringing, vision blurring around the edges, which had become quite a familiar feeling these days. _We're the same. We're the same…she lost Andre and I lost…_

"Dad, stop it! Don't do that, please!" Carl yelled, angry with Rick for making Michonne sad. _Everything was okay a minute ago. Why does this always have to happen?_

Rick put his hands to his face only to find it wet with tears. He turned away and walked back through the house in a daze. The floor began tilting one way and then another beneath his feet, threatening to trip him. He reached out and grabbed the stair railing for support.

Back in the kitchen, Carl was trying not to be upset but he didn't know what to say. Michonne took in his strained expression and knew what she had to do.

"It's okay, Carl. Wait here," she told him, dropping the forgotten spatula on the table as she followed after Rick.

_I should have been more careful. I shouldn't just say things without thinking. Why did I even say that?_

Michonne found Rick by the stairs, one hand covering his eyes.

"Hey," she said softly, placing a hesitant hand on his arm.

"Oh, Michonne…" Rick's voice cracked as he turned and wrapped his arms around Michonne, unable to fight the tears, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Michonne couldn't do anything but return the embrace.

"Me too," she whispered, blinking back her own tears.

"Come on, Rick, let's sit down," she said and together they sunk to the floor.

"She's gone…I couldn't…" Rick sobbed into her shoulder, arms holding her desperately, and Michonne understood that he was talking about Judith now.

"Rick," she said softly, taking a deep breath and continuing, "You can't pretend it never happened, no matter how hard you try. It's not possible…I know that better than anyone…"

"It's okay to cry for her, Rick. It's okay," Michonne said, soothingly rubbing his back, "I'm here. I have you…"

They sat that way for a long time until finally the sadness and the guilt and the pain receded like the tide going out and Rick could breathe normally again. He was left feeling drained but there was a sense of calm in his heart now.

He closed his eyes, _just a moment longer_, not yet ready to lift his head from its resting place on Michonne's shoulder. He wasn't quite ready to show his face.

No, if he was honest, that wasn't it, not entirely. He wanted to stay in this quiet moment a little longer, memorizing the feel of Michonne's fingertips tracing his spine, soothing him until he almost wanted to fall asleep.

A clatter sounding from the direction of the kitchen brought him back to the present. _Snap out of it! This is hardly the time to sleep! _

Rick lifted his head and pulled back a little bit. _Oh crap._ He sniffed and awkwardly wiped his nose on his flannel sleeve.

Rick was mortified to realize that he'd definitely gotten snot on Michonne's shoulder. _What do I do now?_

"I'm sorry," he apologized, his voice rough from crying.

"Don't worry about it," Michonne said, giving a small shrug, "It happens."

He looked into her face, remembering the day they'd had a similar conversation standing behind the station wagon with bags full of guns and ammunition.

She was looking at him with that curious, thoughtful expression that she got sometimes.

"Are you okay?" Rick asked, still sitting very close to her, his arm wrapped around her back, hers draped over his shoulders.

Michonne nodded but didn't say anything.

Rick looked down then back up at her.

"I'm okay too," he said.

"I know," Michonne said.

"How?" Rick asked. _I hardly know if I'm okay, how can she know?_

"Because I'm okay too," Michonne said simply.

Another series of bangs, louder this time, sounded from the kitchen.

"I should go check on Carl," Rick said slowly, making no move to get up.

A small teasing smile pulled at Michonne's lips, "And just for the record, I'm not-"

"Not cuddling me. I know," Rick finished for her, eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Just comforting," she said.

He nodded once, "I can live with that." _Can't remember the last time someone comforted me. It's been so long…_

Rick couldn't bring himself to look away from her brown eyes. He wished that time could freeze right there.

The others back at the prison, even those who had been with him from the beginning, whenever they looked at him Rick could see it in their eyes; doubt, or pity, or unmet expectations, uncertainty, resentment. They were all either waiting for him to take control and lead again, to save them, or waiting for him to break down again and maybe prove them right after all.

But Michonne, she was different, she was the only one to look at him like she understood and that was that.

He felt her eyes slowly trace the lines of his face. Her hand rested on the back of his neck. _She's so close, it would only take…_

"Uh, you guys?" Carl stood anxiously in front of Rick and Michonne.

Rick blinked, focusing on his son. _He's probably worried. _Rick pulled away from Michonne and stood up, their tender moment falling to the floor and rolling away into a corner somewhere.

"Listen, Carl, I don't want you to-" Rick started but was cut off.

"I need to tell you something important!" Carl interrupted loudly. _Oh man, I've done nothing but backtalk my dad today. _

Carl grimaced, almost reluctant to say it. _I'm going to be in SO much trouble._

…

TBC!

A/N: I don't usually like to write sad stories, but I had to do it! I think instead of a scene like this, on the show there's going to be a super emotional scene where Rick and Carl are reunited with Judith...this better happen! (Also, I hijacked a dialog from the finale, it seemed to fit.)

Anyway, next chapter will be more Carl-centric.

Preview: What is Carl's important announcement? Will this lead to a family bonding moment or something else entirely?

P.S. You totally thought they were going to kiss, didn't you? But it wasn't the right moment! Not yet! Please don't hate me!


	7. Chapter 7 - Here Goes Nothing!

Reunion

Summary: What did Carl think about after Michonne went to comfort Rick and he was left alone in the kitchen? What is his important announcement? Is this going to be a pivotal family bonding moment or perhaps something else entirely?

A/N: I know the Richonne romance has been going strong but Carl is an important part of this story too and so this chapter is from Carl's POV. Mostly happening parallel to the last chapter, so don't get confused at the beginning!

….

Chapter 7 – Here Goes Nothing!

Carl carefully studied Michonne's movements, determined to absorb as much knowledge as he could.

"You seem to know a lot about pancakes," he said, mentally noting how much batter she had dropped into the sizzling pan, how she held the spatula, how the batter started to puff up, little air bubbles popping through the surface.

"I am a pancake master," Michonne replied proudly, like that was a badge of honor or something.

Carl laughed at that. She said such weird things sometimes. Whenever the other adults said something like that he always felt as though they were treating him like a child, but Michonne was different. She was just playing around with him, like a friend.

"I used to make Andre these little pancakes in the shape of Mickey Mouse," she continued, "He would just smile and smile. It was the cutest thing."

Partway through her story, something caught Carl's eye by the doorway. He looked up to see his dad leaning against the doorframe.

Carl froze in place, his mind racing. _He doesn't know about Andre yet!_

Michonne noticed that he wasn't saying anything and turned to see what he was looking at.

The quiet stretched out. Carl had a sinking feeling in his stomach as he watched his dad look down at his feet then back up at Michonne, uncertainly.

"Who was Andre?"

"Andre was my son," Carl heard Michonne reply, that barely hidden sadness in her voice again, "He was three."

Rick looked stricken, tears starting to spill over his face. Carl couldn't take it anymore.

"Dad, stop it! Don't do that, please!" Carl yelled, angry even though he knew his dad couldn't help it.

He hated that broken-hearted look that his dad got, every time he realized that something terrible had happened. _Everything was okay a minute ago. Why does this always have to happen?_

Rick turned and walked out of the kitchen, one hand covering his face.

After a slow heartbeat, Michonne told him, "It's okay, Carl. Wait here," and followed after his dad.

Carl stood still, looking at Michonne's spatula, lying discarded on the kitchen table. He felt sad for her again. He felt sad for Judith. _How can we do this? Our family is so broken… I don't know what to do._

Another thought whispered in his mind, _What would Beth tell me right now?_

Ever since they left the farm, the older girl always came up with something to do to make things better. _We don't get to be upset. We all have jobs to do._

During that long winter before they'd found the prison, when the group had been chased from one house after another, barely stopping to rest, their stomachs empty for days, Carl remembered sitting on the gravel by the road, sulking, ignoring whatever his mom was telling him, thinking they should just stay there and wait for the end.

Beth had come over and said, "Carl, get up, help me with something," and told him to help her look for small sticks that Daryl could make into arrows. At first Carl had been sullen, whining to Beth that there was no point, but he helped her anyway and after a half hour of poking around in the woods, he found that his stomach didn't hurt quite as much.

Daryl had appreciated the small gift, but he still wouldn't let Carl fire his crossbow.

_I'm done feeling sorry for myself._

Carl wiped his eyes and straightened his hat. _Michonne will take care of my dad. I have to do this now._

One hand steadying the frying pan handle, the other gripping the metal spatula, Carl mentally prepared himself for the task at hand. _Well, here goes nothing!_

Eyes narrowed in determination, Carl carefully pushed the edge of the spatula under the pancake, _ready one, two, flip!_ and twisted his wrist, the half-cooked pancake flopping over onto itself in a splatter.

_Okay, wait a little longer, then try again_, Carl thought as he attempted to push the splattered tendrils of pancake batter back into a more pancake-like shape.

Eventually he managed to flip that first pancake and it came out alright, a tad burnt in places but alright. The second attempt burnt quickly and stuck to the pan. Frustrated, Carl scraped the inedible mess out, letting it fall into the fire. Then he sprayed the pan with more cooking spray.

The next pancake turned out better. Pretty soon Carl fell into a rhythm of spray, pour, wait, nudge, wait, flip, wait, wait, scoop, and turned out several decent looking pancakes.

Feeling accomplished, Carl took a bite from one of the small hotcakes slowly piling up on the big round plate. _I have to test it!_

It tasted good, considering how long it had been since he'd eaten any kind of bread.

He took another big bite. A cool gust of wind blew in through the open window. Carl shivered and decided it was okay to eat one pancake by himself. He'd save the rest to share with his dad and Michonne.

Carl put a spare dish towel over the plate to keep the pancakes warm and turned back to scoop another cup of batter only to discover flames creeping up the curtains.

_Fire!_ Carl's eyes opened wide. _What to do?!_ The wind must have blown the curtains too close to the make-shift campfire in the kitchen sink and the ends took light.

Reacting instinctually, Carl batted at the flames with the spatula but it was no use. The spatula got tangled in the curtains and the flames only grew. He jerked his hand away, accidentally knocking the frying pan onto the floor in the process.

_This is bad! This is bad!_ Carl grabbed the frying pan by the handle and stepped back from the sink, eyes searching over the room for anything that might help.

Another gust of wind rushed through the small opening in the window and the fire leapt higher. In seconds the cabinets on either side were starting to blacken around the edges.

The fire was spreading much quicker than Carl could think of a way out of his predicament.

Coming to a decision, Carl let the frying pan slip out of his fingers and clatter to the floor once more. He turned on his heels and ran out of the kitchen, through the dining room where he and Michonne had eaten cereal yesterday morning, and into the living room where he found his dad and Michonne.

They were sitting on the floor near the stairs, sitting very close together, Carl noted, arms draped around each other. His dad didn't seem to be upset anymore, which was a relief. They were talking quietly.

Carl came to a halt in front of them. For some reason it felt a little awkward to interrupt them.

"Uh, you guys?" Carl said anxiously. Whatever was going on in here would have to wait.

His dad looked up as if he hadn't heard Carl run into the room. Rick stood up and started to say something, "Listen, Carl I don't-"

"I need to tell you something important!" Carl declared, cutting him off. _Oh man, I've done nothing but backtalk my dad today. _

Carl grimaced, almost reluctant to say it. _I'm going to be in SO much trouble._

Rick and Michonne were both standing now, staring at him expectantly.

"Please don't be mad, but the kitchen is on fire."

"What?"

"The kitchen is what?"

Carl wasn't sure who said what because they were talking at the same time but soon everyone was running into the kitchen to see what was going on.

Sure enough, the fire had spread to the cabinets and the wallpaper and looked to be growing steadily.

"Do we have a fire extinguisher?" Michonne asked, looking around and deftly grabbing the plate of pancakes from the counter and backing up into Rick, who backed up into Carl, who was hesitating in the doorway.

"It was an accident! I'm sorry!" Carl said, not sure if anyone was listening to him at that point. _Why does nothing ever go my way?!_

…..

TBC!

A/N: Thank you everyone for giving me so much support! It's really encouraging to hear that you like my stories! You're the best! Keep telling me what you think, good or bad!

I bet you didn't expect Carl to burn down the house, huh? I like to keep it interesting, haha. Maybe now he and Beth will have something in common: arson! (although in Carl's case it's totally an accident)

I still have a few more ideas of good scenes for this story, so there is more Richonne cuteness to come! Don't worry!

Preview: How will Rick deal with this latest danger? Will Carl get in trouble for burning down their shelter? Will Rick and Michonne grow closer? (I'll give you a hint to the last one, the answer is yes, of course they will)


	8. Chapter 8 - Don't Let Me Fall

Reunion

Summary: After Carl's well-intentioned but ultimately catastrophic breakfast endeavor, our little family of survivors must set off again. Will they find a new shelter? What adventures await them?

A/N: This chapter is Rick's POV. If you feel like he's getting a little bit out of character, keep in mind that the man can't be super serious all the time! The premise of this story is that they have a little more time to heal and to work out their relationships than they did in the show.

This is the longest story I've written yet! I really hope you like where it's going! Enjoy!

….

Chapter 8 - Don't Let Me Fall

Rick looked at his son, the old sherriff's hat over his anxious face.

"Please don't be mad, but the kitchen is on fire."

Those were about the last words that Rick expected to hear out of Carl's mouth. He was expecting Carl to say something about Judith or Michonne's son, Andre.

"The kitchen is what?" Rick repeated. Perhaps he had heard wrong.

At the same time, Michonne stood up, "What?"

Michonne ran into the kitchen to see what was going on, followed by Rick, followed by Carl.

Sure enough, the flimsy curtains on either side of the window over the sink were engulfed in flames and the fire was rapidly spreading to the cabinets and the wallpaper.

Rick's mouth opened in surprise. This day was turning out to be all kinds of dramatic.

"Do we have a fire extinguisher?" Michonne asked, looking around. If there was one, there was no way they'd be able to find it in time.

Thinking quick, Michonne spotted the plate of pancakes on the counter, darted forward and grabbed it. She backed up away from the fire, bumping into Rick, who tried to back out of her way only to bump into Carl.

"It was an accident! I'm sorry!" Carl said, eyes transfixed by the flames.

The three survivors stood bunched up in the doorway.

Michonne looked up at Rick expectantly, as if to say, 'What should we do now?'

_What does she expect from me? I was a cop, not a firefighter!_

"Leave it," Rick decided, his voice gaining a firmness that he hadn't felt for some time, "Grab what you can and let's go."

Carl, Rick, and Michonne ran into the living room, shrugged on the jackets that Rick had found earlier that morning, and gathered up their bags of supplies. Michonne dumped the pancakes into a backpack and tossed the plate away.

"Hold on!" Carl yelled, remembering the EMT bag that was still upstairs from when Michonne gave Rick first aid the night before. He ran up the stairs and into the bedroom before anyone could stop him.

"Carl!" Rick yelled after him, "CARL!"

"I'm coming! Hold on!"

Carl used his arm to swipe the first aid supplies scattered on the bedside table into the big canvas bag, zipped it up, and slung it over his shoulder.

"CARL!" Rick yelled again, right as the boy reappeared at the top of the staircase.

Carl ran down the stairs, jumping over the last three. Michonne had already pushed the couch away from the front door and yanked it open.

The three beat a hasty retreat away from the house. Thankfully there were no walkers in sight, for the time being. They crossed the overgrown yard and stood on the other side of the street, looking back at the house.

A steady rain was coming down. Carl's beloved hat protected him from the wet. Neither Rick nor Michonne's jackets had hoods.

Carl wanted to stay and watch to see if the whole house would burn down but Rick said, "Let's get going," and they set off together.

The three walked for many hours, at times running and hiding from walkers, all the while getting pushed further and further into the housing development. Eventually they cut through some woods, passing a rusted out playground near some picnic tables, a few gruesomely decayed walkers caught in the jungle gym.

The day was dragging on, heavy mud clinging to their boots, when they came along a steep gravel driveway. It led to a large rustic-looking house. At least it looked like it would have been rustic-looking underneath the layers of leaves and dirt and stray shingles. The glass in every visible window had been shattered, the doors hung on their hinges or were missing altogether, and a huge pine tree had fallen on the house, partially collapsing the side of the building.

The wrap-around porch, where it wasn't obscured by the fallen tree, was rotted and broken through in several places. Rick didn't think it was worth it to even look inside so he started to circle around the house and no one voiced an objection.

He wanted to find some safe shelter for the night. The rain had mostly let up, drizzling off and on now. _Maybe there's a shed, or a garage, or something._

Behind the house they found a stretch of woods with a path that led to a lake. The scene was pretty. Despite everything else in the world, here was a beautiful piece of nature, seemingly untouched by death and horror.

"Look! A tree house!" Carl pointed excitedly, the first time he'd spoken up after hours of hiking.

Rick peered through the trees, "You're right," he told Carl, impressed that he'd spotted it.

Upon closer examination they saw that, just as Carl said, there was a boxy wooden playhouse about ten feet off the ground, nestled in the branches of a massive oak tree. It had three walls and a roof. A tattered sheet of camouflage netting hung in the front but Rick could still make out some faded paint that probably used to be bright primary colors.

"Looks like someone could be living here," Michonne whispered from Rick's side.

"Hello?" Rick called out.

There was no response. If anyone had been staying in the tree house, they weren't there now. Rick turned to Carl.

"Here, I'll boost you up, see what you can see," he said, bending down and lacing his fingers together to make a step for Carl.

Carl dropped his bags on the ground and with his dad's help, Michonne reaching out to balance him, managed to get his hands on the wooden platform. Straining to pull himself up, Carl peeked inside.

"It's clear," he said, "looks good. Push me higher!"

Rick grunted, pushed Carl's miss-matched boots higher, his bruised ribs protesting the effort. Carl scrambled up into the tree house. Rick caught his breath and listened to his son investigating the tree house.

"Dad," Carl came back to the edge, one hand holding a scrap of the camo sheet away from his face, "I think someone was living here. There's some rolled up sleeping bags and some boxes, but it's all kinda dusty."

"We could stay here," he concluded hopefully, "for a little while anyway."

"Alight," Rick agreed. _It's as good a place as any._

They tossed their bags of gear up to Carl, who found a rope ladder and let it down for Rick and Michonne to climb up.

"Ladies first," Rick said with a little smile, rain-soaked curls plastered to his face.

Michonne cracked a smile and shimmied up the rope ladder like she had been living in tree houses all her life.

Rick had considerably more difficulty. He had managed alright during their long trek but a steady trudge was different from climbing a wobbly, slippery rope ladder and his injuries were far from healed.

It all seemed to catch up to him after he got his feet on the first cross-rope. The dull ache in his bruised ribs, the burning pain in his leg, the creaking of the rope ladder as it swung back and forth, all of it conspired to make his head swim, and he was less than three feet off the ground!

_Pull yourself together, Grimes! You've got this!_ Rick gave himself an internal pep talk, rallying his determination.

Steadying his breath the best he could, Rick reached up with one hand, then another to grab the next higher cross-rope. _Slow and careful, that's it, don't fall…_ He took a step with his good leg, held on tight, and pulled himself higher.

_Don't fall in front of Michonne!_ That would be about the most humiliating thing he could think of. _She's already seen me at my lowest point, beaten down by the worst life could throw at me, many times over, I always stood back up, but if I fall now…she'll think I'm a total klutz and that'll be the end of it! _

He repeated the process, slowly climbing the ladder, refusing to look up, all the while telling himself, _Don't fall in front of Michonne…Don't fall…Why can't I look cool in front of her just once? …Almost there!_

After what felt like an eternity but was really more like seven minutes, Rick reached the top of the rope ladder. Michonne's hands were ready and waiting to grab his arms, helping him up onto the wooden platform.

"Sorry, I should have held it still and sent you up first. I didn't think," Michonne said apologetically, looking at him with concern in her face.

"It's okay," Rick said. He didn't have the energy to say more.

It was reasonably dry inside the tree house, back from the open side. Someone or a couple someone's had been staying there at some point, but the place wasn't particularly neat or well-supplied so it was impossible to tell how recently. Whoever it was could be long gone by now.

Michonne spread out the sleeping bags and the three weary travelers sat in a row, leaning against the wall. They ate the crumbled bits of pancake that Michonne scooped out of her backpack. It wasn't much, but it was enough to quiet their hunger.

Carl rummaged through the water-damaged and mouse-nibbled cardboard boxes stacked against one wall of the tree house.

To his surprise he found several metal ammo boxes with U.S. ARMY stenciled on the sides. Most were marked .50 CAL but one of the boxes held smaller caliber bullets and Carl and Rick each loaded their guns.

Rick slid his gun back into its holster, reassured by its weight, and went back to sit down next to Michonne, leaning his back against the smooth wood panels.

"You're soaked," he said, touching the soggy arm of her jacket.

"Hey, you're one to talk," Michonne replied, meeting his eyes.

She shifted closer to him and reached a hand up to his face.

Rick's heart began to beat faster in anticipation.

"Here," Michonne said softly, "this is about to come off anyway," and pulled off the Band-Aid that she'd stuck on his cheek the night before.

"Ow!" Rick winced in surprise more than anything else. He'd completely forgotten about the Band-Aid covering the cut on his face. Never mind the fact that he'd, quite irrationally as it turned out, been expecting her to do something else entirely. Maybe not so much expecting as wishing...

Feeling chagrined, Rick ducked his head to hide his disappointment.

"I got this one," he said, pulling off the Band-Aid that was stuck across the bridge of his nose.

"Suit yourself," Michonne said nonchalantly.

Rick noticed Carl watching him and Michonne, an odd expression on his young face. Before he could say anything, Carl went back to sorting through the last of the boxes and Rick decided to let him be.

The tree house was quiet but for the sound of the occasional water droplet rolling off a leaf and falling to the roof.

Rick yawned. He rubbed his hands over his tired eyes, pushed his wet hair back from his face. _Jacket is soaked through_, he realized, and slowly removed his coat.

Michonne and Carl followed suit, spreading out the three wet jackets on the floor where hopefully they might dry.

Carl opened his mouth to suggest that they build a small fire to dry their clothes, remembered exactly why they had left that nice dry house in the first place, and closed his mouth again.

"Rick, get some rest," Michonne said, "I'll keep watch."

He nodded his consent. That sounded like a fantastic plan. Truly exhausted, Rick unzipped a sleeping bag and crawled inside, for a fleeting moment feeling for all the world like his was back in Boy Scout camp.

"Don't go anywhere," Rick said before his eyes fell closed.

"We're not going anywhere," Michonne assured him with a soft smile, speaking for herself and for Carl.

…

TBC!

A/N: So, what do you think of my new setting? Poor Rick, rope ladders can be so difficult!

I have a lot more in mind for this story, but I don't want to give away too much just yet. Team Richonne is end-game!

Preview: We're pretty sure of Rick's feelings at this point, but will Michonne finally reveal how she feels about Rick? What does Carl have to say about the matter? And how safe is this new shelter really?


	9. Chapter 9 - Searching for Love

Reunion

Summary: Michonne and Carl have a heart-to-heart. Will our favorite warrior woman finally admit her feelings?

A/N: Thank you for continuing to support my story! I've been wanting to write a scene like this for a while. I hope you like it!

….

Chapter 9 – Searching for Love

Michonne sat at the open edge of the small tree house, watching the day fade into evening. The world outside was deceptively quiet. She knew enough to keep her guard up because that could change at any moment.

Inside the drafty tree house Rick was resting and Carl was wringing out his socks, trying to find a place to hang them up to dry. Michonne returned her attention to the forest outside.

The partially collapsed cabin was just visible from her perch. There was a glimpse of the setting sun reflecting off the lake in the other direction.

Carl sat down beside her, letting his feet dangle off the edge of the platform.

"Do you think they'll come back?" he asked, "The people who were staying here before?"

Michonne thought about this.

"I don't know," her hand unconsciously went to her sword, reassuring herself that it was still at her side, "We'll keep a look out and if we see anyone coming, we'll leave before they get here."

"Unless it's someone we know," Carl said, and then added in a quieter voice, "someone from the prison."

Michonne looked at him thoughtfully.

"Do you think anyone else got out? Do you think we'll find them?" he asked, hope tainting his voice, even after everything that he'd been through.

Michonne was quiet. Carl looked back out towards the forest.

Rick hadn't said anything about looking for the others. It must have been pretty bad when he and Carl left. Michonne had lingered as long as she could after she lost track of Rick, hoping to see someone else alive, but there had only been smoke and walking corpses filling the prison yard when she left.

_Even if someone else made it out, and survived this long on their own, out in the open_, Michonne thought, _there's no way to find them. With Rick hurt the way he is, there's no way we can go out searching…_

"I don't know, Carl," she said gently, "I don't think it's possible to find people anymore, even if you search." _I should know, I searched for the Governor for weeks and what good did that do?_

"But you found us," Carl pointed out.

"That's right. I did."

They were quiet for a while, Carl tossing stray acorns over the side, watching darkness fall, before he spoke up again.

"Michonne, can I ask you something?" he said.

She nodded for him to continue.

"Do you like my dad?"

Michonne frowned, "Of course I like him. We're friends, you know that."

"No…" Carl rolled his eyes, "Not that. I mean, do you _like_ like my dad?"

"Oh," Michonne said. _So that's the conversation we're having…It's not that obvious, is it?_

"It would be okay, you know, if you did," Carl said seriously, "I'll always miss my mom, but things are different now. I just think it would be okay."

Carl trailed off. He looked down, scratching at the faded paint on the floor.

"It's better when you're around. He's not so… With the three of us, it almost feels like we're a real family again," Carl finished, his voice cracking at that last bit.

"Oh, honey," Michonne said, moving over close to him and draping an arm over his shoulders.

Carl wiped his eyes with his sleeve but he didn't resist. He leaned his head on Michonne's shoulder.

"You are a real family," she told him softly, "Your dad loves you, Carl. You know that, right? He loves you more than anything."

"I know," Carl sniffled. If Michonne said it, it had to be true. He knew it was true.

"And I love you too. I'm not going anywhere without you and Rick again," Michonne promised.

"I love you, too, Michonne," he said it back, feeling a little better.

He didn't want Michonne to replace his mom. It wasn't like that; he was too independent now and they were good as friends, but even so he knew that she protected him sometimes. She comforted him.

"And my dad? Do you love him too?" Carl looked up at Michonne, a small smile crossing his features.

"You're not letting that go, are you?" she replied.

"Come on! You owe me an answer!" Carl said, knowing he was pushing his luck, but he had to try. Even if he'd gotten sidetracked for a moment there, he wasn't giving up that easily!

Michonne glanced back over her shoulder at Rick. He was lying in a partly zipped green sleeping bag, his forearm over his eyes to block out the light.

"You don't have to say it out loud, just shake your head yes or no," Carl pleaded. _This was worse than pulling teeth!_

Michonne nodded, and then looked back out towards the lake. She had to keep watch, after all.

"Okay," Carl smiled to himself.

They sat in peace until the stars came out and Carl yawned. He was nearly asleep already, leaning against Michonne's shoulder.

"Go on, get some sleep," she told him.

Michonne watched Carl move towards the back of the tree house and settle in next to Rick for the night.

…..

TBC!

A/N: There are more Richonne moments to come, I promise! Also more danger and excitement! There will be a Richonne kiss if not next chapter, then the one after, though maybe not what you're expecting! I have to time it right. We're playing the long game here, after all.

What do you think, was Rick really asleep during this conversation or did he hear them talking and pretend to be asleep? Even if he heard everything, he still doesn't know what Michonne's answer was!


End file.
